Worst Possible Outcome
by TheEpiclyBoredWriter
Summary: Moira never thought that damned Nietzsche quote about fighting monsters was so damn literal...
1. Chapter 1

Death came quickly.

No.

Death should have come quickly but death didn't come at all.

Claire was gone. She watched her jump. Down… down… down… She was okay, wasn't she? How high were they?

Faintly, she could remember it all. The detonation. The rocks. She had only wanted to save Claire and... well, she had. At what cost? Hard to say. She could recall recording a message. Her phone still lay in front of her. Somehow she'd pulled it out, spoke long enough to say goodbye to her family. Now the dust had settled. Everything was perfectly still and perfectly quiet.

And she hated it.

Taking a few deep breaths, Moira tried to compose herself. She was sore but all things considered she wasn't in nearly as much pain as she imagined she would be. The initial impact hurt the most, and now most of the pain had dulled. She knew that, before things went black, there was a beeping noise. That damned bracelet. It turned red, blinked… She wasn't dead though. That meant everything was okay, didn't it?

She knew that wasn't true.

Moira tried to move, slowly at first, then with more force. Her body still worked, she crawled free of the rubble, then tried to make sense of things. Nothing felt right anymore. Above her, moonlight shone in, illuminating the spot she had died on. Looking down at herself, she began to cry. She wanted to believe it was just a head injury. She wanted to believe that what she was seeing was not the truth. She was dreaming, she was dead, she was anything but what she was now.

She decided to block it out. The clothes that hung in shreds around her body were only there because she had been hurt. Rubble was sharp, it was no surprise her clothes had torn. The bracelet had snapped off her wrist at some point too. Small miracles. Be glad for something. If she got out, if she stopped breathing in so much dust, then maybe her vision would clear and she would see herself again. She had to see herself again. This wasn't actually happening. There was just no way.

Getting out was the number one priority now. She ached, but that was okay. It reminded her of the pitiful truth that she was alive. How was she going to get off this island? No, that would come later. Moving came now. The hardest part about escaping was not looking at herself. One hand in front of the other as she maneuvered her way down. They weren't here hands… This wasn't her body. No. Focus. Claire would want her to focus. If Claire were here she'd tell her everything was going to be fine and that they'd get out. But Claire wasn't here. Claire was somewhere else. She was alone now. For survival's sake, she was going to pretend she wasn't alone, and follow Claire's wisdom of getting out alive.

Everything was a mess. The process of crawling down heaps of rubble was bound to kill her if she wasn't mindful. She was only mindful because she had people to get back to. She didn't actually want to be alive anymore. If she thought too hard on it, she wasn't going to want to be alive for them either. Yet, she was afraid to die at any rate. Being afraid to die is why she was like this now. If she had been less of a coward this wouldn't have happened. Maybe if she'd been braver earlier she would have been able to beat whatever virus had done this to her.

Her mind was still in working order, though, and that struck her as odd. She knew it wouldn't bother her at all if it didn't work, but it did, so now she had to live with that too. She had seen Pedro change. She didn't actually know him, but he hadn't been himself. That much was certain. His mind snapped, he turned into something else entirely. His awareness was only tangential. Neil was almost the same way. The virus made him angrier, more violent and while Moira knew he was a twisted freak, he was too much of a coward himself to ever be that violent. He needed help doing so. Was she violent now too? She didn't feel like it, didn't feel angry, just sad. Sad didn't even begin to cover it.

Thinking kept her mind off the glimpses of her body. Escape kept her mind off thinking too much. Broken bits of rock and metal cut her now and again which brought her back to her reality. It was a delicate balance, and when she was on solid ground again she'd reorient it to something safer. The smell of blood burned her nose. Her own blood. It was a botched detonation and she could still smell that familiar chemical smell, though part of it was likely fuel. Nearly half the tower remained standing, and escape was within her reach.

Down she went, though much slower than Claire had. She had leisure time now. No monsters. No explosions. Just the sounds of her lowering herself down. Just her alone. Her hands and feet padded softly along the concrete, and before she knew it, an eternity had passed and she was touching wet grass. Moira stopped then, sitting down to try and relax. The million thoughts in her brain blurred to a numb haze of anxiety, mirroring the distinctive hum of the insects. She kept her gaze up towards the sky because it meant she did not have to see herself. When she was ready to acknowledge it, truly, truly ready, she would look again. Maybe after falling asleep.

"I. Am. Alive." She said, speaking slowly to hear the sound of her own voice. Her throat was dry, her voice was soft and distant but it was her own. Her mind was her own still, only her body was not.

"I am going to be okay." She spoke again, hoping that might make her believe the words. Slowing her breathing, she closed her eyes, trying to experience herself as she was.

Footsteps on the grass forced her to open her eyes. They were light, careful, yet she managed to hear them crunch over small rocks and leaves. A shadow was approaching her. It moved deliberately, so she was certain it wasn't a monster. Another monster? No, too soon for that. Either way it approached her carefully, and in its hands, she caught the glint of metal.

Her curious visitor had a gun.


	2. Chapter 2

Moira froze. The man grew closer and worst yet she recognized him. She knew she recognized him. He, however, did not recognize her. Not at first. She didn't know whether to run or not. Running would spare her the shame of being seen like this. Running might save her life in the moment, but further down the line it could jeopardize it entirely. She knew she needed help. Probably more help than he could provide her. That drive was enough to override the shame and the fear for now. He approached slowly, which gave her plenty of time to doubt and redoubt herself before she spoke up cautiously.

"Don't shoot." She managed to find her voice well enough that he hesitated. "Don't shoot. I'm not going to do anything." Her voice was pleading, surely the old bastard would be kind enough to listen to her. Maybe if she lay down? She could tell that, even sitting, she was as tall or taller than he was. That wasn't how it was before right? He was definitely taller before. Don't think. Just swallow your pride and beg. "I need you to help me. I don't know what the fuck to do now. Can you help me?"

Eventually, the old man listened, lowering his gun. He stared hard at her in the moonlight before he caught sight of the tattered remains of her jacket hanging about her arms. He knew her then. One of the women from the sewers. Well, that's who she used to be. Maybe less so now.

"What happen to your friend, hm?" He asked, voice gruff and warning. For all he knew this could be a trap. There could be another one of these things roaming around, waiting to strike at any moment. Some shape shifting beast that had stolen the girl's coat, mimicked her voice in order to kill him. It seemed too much like a fable to him, and some glint in the things dark eyes made him doubt it meant him any real harm.

"I don't know. She… She got out, I think? I can't say for sure… I'm fucking… I mean- It's… Can you help me or not?"

"Watch mouth." He said sharply. "What happen to you? You look different."

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "I don't know. I don't know. Nothing. Will you help or not?" She echoed her words from before finding comfort in the idea that she could still talk. She could keep saying the same thing over and over and the meaning did not change just because she had. Help.

For a long moment, he stood there watching her, mulling things over in his head. Moira could only stare back, biting back whimpers after every passing second he did not answer.

"You come with me." He began, slinging his rifle over his shoulder again. "You do as I say. Maybe you don't get killed. End up worse than you already are."

Moira pushed that thought away once more, walking after the old man. If he was going to shoot her maybe she would just allow it. It'd be a quicker death than whatever she would likely suffer. She'd outlived her own life anyway. She tried to stand up on two legs and realized she could not. Her body refused to let her do it with any form of comfort.

She was just sore.

The lie would have to do for now. Walking on all fours was easier… Her strides were long and maintaining pace with the old man was easy this way, even with the terrain. It was dark enough she could ignore her body for a little while longer. The old man wasn't talking to her anyway, so it gave her time to focus on walking towards shelter. She could be monster look out. Other monster look out? Her senses were bothering her. Things smelled stronger than before, bugs chirped louder. Fear would do that. Fear had done it to her before it's how she and Claire survived.

Ironic.

Soon enough the arrived at an abandoned shack in the middle of the woods unscathed by other creatures of the night. Moira hated it immediately, given she feared whatever might be out there. The luck of not running into freaks never lasted long. She knew what lurked in the dark by now anyway. Freaks with clubs who shrieked inhuman noises at you. Walking lumps of pus that exploded near you, burning your skin and nearly blinding you if you weren't quick enough.

It was a wonder her and Claire lasted as long as they did. It was a wonder she didn't succumb to this thing sooner.

"Monster no come here. Especially not with you. You biggest monster on the island." He said, grossly insensitive to how she felt. Even so, Moira couldn't be mad. He wasn't wrong. She knew that. She didn't want to but she did know. He didn't even seem to mean it the way it sounded. The old man was just trying to make her feel better about staying here. She wouldn't let herself get mad yet.

Maybe he saw her as pathetic. She was, after all, pathetic, but maybe he saw it too. He walked around the shack shoving things aside until he did the last thing she wanted. He lit a lantern for her, setting it on the table. As far as Moira knew, the monsters on the island didn't care how bright something was, if they were going to come around they would and light played no factor in it.

"You sleep here. Tomorrow morning I come with bedding. Then we hunt. Very early now!" He warned, adjusting her backpack. "Go to sleep." With that, the old man left, leaving Moira sitting alone in a dusty little cabin and only a lantern sitting on a table.

He shouldn't be this nice to her. His tone wasn't nice, but the fact he hadn't shot her dead, the fact he walked her to a roof over her head, that was nice. She hated it, and she wanted to hate him. It was all she knew. She hated him when she first saw him, and hating him now would ground her in something real.

She could barely hate him.

Hating herself though? That was the easy part.

Looking over the room, she spotted a sheet in the corner. It could make for something to lie down on, at least. He did say he'd come up with bedding, didn't he? That wouldn't be until tomorrow though, so she'd need to make due. Pulling it down, she froze.

A mirror.

A goddamn mirror. Of all the things. Big enough to show off her entire fucked up body.

She couldn't handle looking, and she could not look away. She swayed slightly. The monster in front of her swayed too. She lifted her hand, and it lifted its grotesque claw to meet her. Her mouth hung open in horror, and the monster's mouth hung open as well, threatening her with an array of fangs. A pale, twisted freak. Big dark eyes, hollow in the lantern's glow.

Anything but this.

Anything.

Instinctively she feared her own visage. She kept moving her face in the most subtle of ways, and the freak did it right back. That freak. Her. That monster in the mirror. Her. That sickly looking horror. Her.

Her.

Her.

Her.

Her eyes were fixed on the image now. Drinking it all in. Becoming it slowly just as it became her.


	3. Chapter 3

Moira's mind slowly began to register what she was seeing. The twisted shape was _her_ twisted shape. She'd gotten… bigger. So much bigger. She was crouched down and still stood the height of the full length mirror. Shoulders were broader, now barrel-chested, with ribs pressed close to the surface, turning slightly, spine the same way. Her limbs were gangly, feet and hands long… normal enough, just misshapen, but her nails were long and ragged just the same. Her Pale skin had stretched to fit her new frame, but peppered across her head and body, her skin had torn, bringing forth bulbous red lumps of various sizes. A few strands of hair remained on her head, but they'd grown down her neck and onto her back just slightly. If her hair ever started to grow back, she realized she'd have a mane. The only parts of her that reminded her of her were her nose and the few strands of her jacket that still clung to her arms and back… and one of those things had to go sooner or later.

She stepped back from the mirror slowly, wandering in a daze over to the corner of the room. All she could do now was lie down, curl up, and close her eyes. With her eyes closed she could pretend she was still a person, so long as she didn't move around too much. The soreness was fading, replaced with the numb realization she could never go back to who she was before.

Watching her from the darkness, as she tried to fall asleep, stood her new self. She, or it, or whatever it was, was crouched in the corner, dark eyes gleaming as they stared transfixed at her. It didn't seem hostile, just… watched her, waited. Waited for what she didn't know. But for the duration of her night it stood there until she woke up and became it.

Moira awoke to the sound of a man's voice, the same old bastard from the night before who hadn't left her to die. She squinted up at him, blinded by the light in the room. Her head ached, and she was sore from how she'd slept, but she was very much still living.

"You plan to sleep all day?" He asked, adjusting the rifle on his back. "Big monster has to hunt own food."

"Mmn… fuck you old man." She groaned, pushing herself to sit up. For half a moment, she felt like herself again and in that moment was peace.

"Get up. I'll show you where to find food." He said, turning and walking out without waiting for her to wake.

It wasn't like Moira wanted to follow after him, she just didn't have a choice. She did need to eat, probably needed to eat a lot more given her size now. The old man seemed pretty damn fearless given she figured she could probably kill him if she wanted to… the problem is she didn't want to. She didn't want to kill anything, especially not the rabbit that he quietly pointed out to her when she finally caught up. Maybe at his age you just stopped fearing death. Moira wasn't sure but she knew she was pretty damn afraid to die herself.

"Can you catch rabbit?" He asked quietly. Moira didn't know if she could, and she didn't want to try either. She wanted to just pretend she wasn't hungry, but if she did that she'd probably lose her mind and become like every other fucked up thing on this island.

"I can try." She said reluctantly.

Her senses seemed sharper, or maybe it was just the hunger. She didn't know which, but the burst of speed she found within her was startling. Before she really knew what she'd done, she'd someone grabbed hold of the squirming thing and cut its throat. It made a horrible noise and convulsed before falling limp in her hand.

It wasn't like what she'd done before. Beating in the heads of those other freaks was… so much different than this. It wasn't even hard at first. Claire made it alright. Besides, those monsters wanted to hurt them. Kill or be killed. This rabbit, on the other hand, hadn't done anything, and she'd killed it. She'd killed it with her bare hands. No knife, no gun, no crowbar. Her hands.

She did need to eat though.

She needed to eat now more than ever since she threw up into a bush.

The old man walked up behind her, frowning at her. He picked up the rabbit and put it into his backpack, glancing up at her every so often. "Rabbit is food. If you don't hunt, you don't eat. If you don't eat, you die." He warned, exhaling slowly as he stood back up. "Big monster can't even get own food…" He grumbled, adding something in a language Moira didn't understand.

"Hey fuck you old man." She said, trying to spit to get the taste of bile out of her mouth. "I've never fucking done that shit before! I didn't know it'd make noises like that!" Moira wasn't sure if she was crying or not, but if she was, he didn't point it out.

He grunted, shouldering his bag once more. "Takes practice." He said, turning to head back the way they came. Moira tried to wipe blood off onto the grass before following after him. She didn't like the silence of their walk, so she tried to make conversation. It was still morning, probably still plenty of time to hunt, but she figured he already had and she'd fucked up too badly for him to care anymore. She couldn't fuck up again…

"Why are you helping me?" She asked. Simple enough.

"I'm not."

"What? What do you mean you're not? What was that back there then? Why'd you fucking take me there if you weren't helping me?"

"Hmph."

Moira was quiet for a moment before realizing he considered that the end of his reply. The stubborn old bastard wasn't going to say anymore, she knew that. Maybe she'd change the subject to the next thing she wanted to know.

"Fine. Whatever. Why aren't you afraid of me then?"

"Don't ask stupid question."

"It's not a fucking stupid question!"

"Big baby monster can't even kill rabbit. Can't kill me." He replied, chuckling slightly as he walked off in front of her.

Moira growled, wanting to prove him wrong. She would show him! She… had no way to prove herself. She wasn't angry enough to kill him. It'd be stupid to kill him. If she lost her mind she'd kill him but not before, and so long as he was helping her she'd stay sane. Maybe he knew that. Maybe he was smarter than she thought. That idea killed her. A stubborn old man like him, like Barry, had no business being smart or even right. If he was right, that meant Barry was right too and she just couldn't accept that. Couldn't accept that he was right about her being a fuck up… about everything being her fault.

There'd always been a little flicker of self-doubt, though. Now it was getting brighter.

Maybe things were all her fault.

Maybe turning into this thing was punishment for what she'd done to Polly and her entire family.

Letting herself starve and lose it might not be so bad. At least then she could forget about everything.


	4. Chapter 4

And just like that, Moira gave up.

She was never going to see Barry or her family again anyway, nor would she see Claire. What did it matter what she did now? She'd just try to forget everything and assume her new life as some four legged hunting partner. It wasn't how she wanted to give up, but she had to survive. She'd let herself go crazy when the old bastard died, but not before.

Surviving for herself was a foreign concept to her. Since she'd turned fifteen, she'd been surviving exclusively for other people. She wanted to blame Barry for that too, but deep down she knew it wasn't his fault. Maybe it wasn't anyone's fault, but it was everyone's fault she was still alive. Wanting to die was easy, but the fear of actually dying was something else entirely. To embrace death, to cease to exist, to fade from the memories of everyone who loved her as few as they were, that was too much.

Claire had made it harder to want to die. She felt like a reason to stay alive. Moira never spoke it, she feared sounding like a freak and maybe she never actually got better at all. Maybe she only got better at hiding things. Maybe it was just easier to repress the bad feelings around her because the other woman was hardly any better off. Claire hid her bad feelings well too. Too well actually. So well in fact Moira didn't even know they existed until they'd known each other for over a year.

She would survive until the old man died, after that she didn't know what would happen, but doubtfully anything good. Maybe in that time she could learn to accept herself and figure out some kind of plan but the truth was, even if she didn't succumb to the creature lurking in her mind, she'd succumb to loneliness. The dark nights she spent alone in her room were always the hardest. Sometimes she'd forget she was supposed to be an adult and sleep on her sister's floor. Polly was usually good to her on her bad days, and as she got older they grew more and more infrequent. Still, she never figured it was serious enough to talk about, so her parents never knew.

In hindsight, maybe she was wrong. Maybe they should have known, but it didn't matter now.

The old man and Moira never talked about who they were before all this happened. He never asked her name, so she never asked his. He never asked about her family, so she never asked about his. They didn't talk a lot, but on calmer days he'd venture up to her cabin to spend the day working on something small when they weren't hunting. Turning had given her a stronger stomach it seemed, so eating the putrid flesh of those other monsters never seemed to upset her stomach. She wasn't proud of it, but it kept her form killing animals, and it helped keep the both of them safe.

Moira was amazed at how quickly she lost track of days. Night, day, hours, weeks, they all began to blend into each other. The only reminder that her life was progressing was the approaching chill in the night air which bled into daylight over time. She'd long since been running around essentially naked, but the shame of nudity was far over shadowed by the shame of the twisted body she now inhabited. Her shreds of clothes were long discarded, and sometimes she wondered if being no longer human meant she couldn't be "naked". Dogs weren't naked, so could she live that way too? Just as well, the old man never seemed to pay it any mind so long as she was useful. Working hard usually gave her the leisure to pass out before she thought too much.

One early afternoon, the old man ventured up to meet with her. It was already too cold for her to care much about anything, so she'd opted to spend the day curled up under a blanket she'd found while rummaging through the abandoned fishing town not far off. This cabin became her little project, but sometimes it was hard to justify fixing it up at all. It wasn't really for anyone, just herself.

"Volchok!" He called out as he stepped inside, kicking his boots clean at the door. He'd taken to calling her that, and like with everything else, Moira never asked any questions about it. She just figured it was some insult, but she didn't know what it meant so she didn't care. Sometimes, she swore he smiled when he said it, but it wasn't exactly that kind of smug smile she remembered seeing in her old life.

"I'm taking the day off!" She called back, figuring he wanted her to go out and hunt. Not today. She wasn't even hungry.

"I not here about hunting!" He said, walking into her "room" with a brown bundle in his hand. "Something for good little Volchok. Killed maaaany monsters. Save bullets."

Moira swore, briefly, he almost sounded proud of her. Brushing it off, she sat up, pulling the blanket around her to keep warmer. "What is it?" She held out her hand, taking the bundle from him. When he didn't answer, she unwrapped it, soon discovering it was a long, patchwork bit of cloth. She turned it over for a while before looking up, confused.

"Scarf." He said simply. "Keep you warm outside."

She opened her mouth to comment, to say thank you, something, but he was already on his way out. He'd done what he needed to do, and needed no sappy thank you or questioning as to why he was doing this. His goal had been to give her the scarf, and that was it.

Moira began to look it over more closely now, realizing it wasn't just something he'd dug up. It was too damn long to be a scarf for a normal person, and it was made entirely of random bits of fabric in no logical order. If he knew how to sew, it was only to repair clothes, because the thing had the appearance of being repaired and over repaired with ten dozen patches…

It didn't feel right that he'd be giving her a gift like this. That he'd care enough to be this nice to her. Without a doubt it was the nicest thing she'd ever gotten but it somehow made no sense. Had he been sewing this for himself? Did he decide he just didn't need a scarf or… was it made especially for her? The size seemed to imply that but… No. It made no sense. The old bastard probably hated to sew anyway. Probably thought it was "woman's work" or something ridiculous but then why had he done this? A scarf wasn't her idea of a "great job at killing freaks" present, but what did she know?

Was there more to it then? She lay back down under her blanket, scarf now wrapped loosely around her neck. At some point she'd started crying without realizing it and it showed no signs of stopping. Had Barry ever been this nice to her? She couldn't remember, but she was fairly sure he'd never done something this comparatively selfless. Still, she was really just making up stories in her head to entertain herself. The old man was, at times, a better father than Barry, so maybe he was making up for some kid he'd lost too. It probably wasn't true, but it helped to ease Moira's mind if she imagined him as a father once. Maybe the island took more away from him than just his home. That's why they never spoke about it. They just filled in a gap of what the other lost, albeit loosely.

It was just a fantasy. She was still a giant monster and there was no way a man like that had the imagination to pretend she was someone he knew once. Hell, she was an American monster at that, which probably somehow made it even worse.

Still… he respected her. In some weird way and that was nice. She had a place. Some kind of a place. But a place.


	5. Chapter 5

When the old man died, it didn't come as a surprise to her, but that didn't make it hurt any less. She didn't want to grow attached to an old bastard like him, but… it hadn't stopped her. She wished it had. Their parting came quietly one night. She'd watched him deteriorate as the days went on, but they both tried to ignore it. They couldn't forever. They didn't have forever. Moira didn't know if the old man planned to shoot himself or not. Maybe he just knew his time had come, but it was too hard to ask questions.

They were walking home together, in their usual silence. The old man lagging behind more so than normal. Moira stopped every so often to let him catch up, and, when they reached her home, he hesitated, staring forward.

"I have gift for you." He said, breath more ragged than normal. Moira swallowed, but said nothing. She watched him fumble in his coat for a moment before handing her a book. She took it gently and waited for him to speak.

"I do not think…" He paused. "I do not think I should be forgotten." Moira felt herself grow cold, the back of her throat tightening. "You are all I have left my little Volchok." A few harsh coughs followed as he rested his weight on his rifle. "I think you should have that."

Moira could only nod, body numb at the realization she was going to be alone now. Truly, truly alone. "I understand…" She said softly, voice barely above a whisper. She couldn't bring herself to be angry with him. She wanted to blame him for giving up so easily, to shout at him for daring to leave her alone this way like everyone else but it just wasn't his fault. She couldn't even bring herself to ask him his name. She was a monster. She had no business knowing a man's name, and she had no right to her own name. They met as strangers, and they'd part as strangers. If things were different, if she wasn't this twisted thing then maybe she would demand some kind of closure from him but her heart wasn't in it.

The old man nodded in response, patting her on the head with a shaky hand. She couldn't help but realize how frail he was now. A broken, tired old bastard who needed to rest. He earned it. The family and friends he lost to this hellhole were waiting for him and Moira knew that.

"Do not cry little Volchok. You do fine on your own." He said, letting his hand slip free. The moment of vulnerability made her feel sick. This wasn't a man to break down this way. Men like this didn't have this kind of weakness. She looked up at him again, and briefly she swore she saw someone else. The moment didn't last long enough to process though. By now, he was slowly hobbling away. Off to find his peace alone.

Awkwardly, she called off after him, voice weak, ready to break at any moment. "Thank you—"

The reply was little more than a grunt, and in a way, she swore it was a laugh. A fragment of a laugh. A relic of the person who once inhabited that body, so confident and sure of himself. Moira could only sit and watch him go, fading into darkness never to return. Their last moments together had only been mere seconds. That wasn't enough. That wasn't what she wanted. They spent so much time in silence she knew nothing about him. It was over as soon as it began and it just wasn't _fair._ Nothing about this island was fair. First it took Claire, then it took her, and now it took the old man too. Everything gone. Just like that.

Why couldn't there be more? More of _something_. Something she couldn't reach no matter how hard she tried, or how long she stared into the empty blackness the old man vanished into. She could stare at herself all day and she would never change back. Nothing could ever change. She would never be normal, he would never be back, and Claire would never see her again. Gone.

Deep down she knew things could change for the worst. She could let go. It wouldn't even matter if she let go. There was no one to find her, no one was ever going to come. Even if they did, what? She couldn't go back home. She was a monster. A giant fucking monster! There was no home for her, this was it. This vast, empty fucking island was all she had left and she was going to rot on it like everything else. Every goddamn thing came here to die and that was it. Misery and decay like that crazy old bitch wanted. Even if she did fight it out of spite, who would she be fighting for? At home she could fight Barry, she could fight "society" whatever that was, but here? She was all that was here, and she wasn't about to fight herself anymore.

Empty and numb, Moira gazed into the blackened forest until it turned light grey, then gold. Her body became stiff and sore, too stubborn to move. When she found the strength to turn her head, she saw insects attempting to burrow into the red boils on her flesh. A few were already leaking. Forcing her body to cooperate, she began to scrape them away until the itching stopped. Maybe she already _was_ rotting and she just hadn't realized it yet.

The book the old man gave her was still clutched in her fingers but with a bit of effort she pried them apart. She looked it over for a moment, deciding it was best to allow herself back inside before she was eaten alive. Heading into her house, she pushed the door closed and collapsed on the floor. She could see well enough, and with a bit of effort, she began to paw through the pages of the old man's book.

It couldn't just be a regular book. The thought was bitter, but it was enough to force her to turn away from it. If she was going to allow herself to lose her mind, she couldn't allow herself to read that. A personal journal might just be enough to keep her suffering in sanity for far too long. He wanted to be remembered. This is how he planned to do it. It was too small for her hands anyway, there'd be no point in trying. She'd just ruin the pages anyway. Tear them out by mistake then hate herself for it.

It was too soon to touch something like that. It might always be too soon. Moira couldn't even bring herself to look at it any longer, and drug it off to her bed to hide. With a few quick and awkward gestures, she wrapped the book in her scarf and shoved it under her makeshift bed. Later. She'd try later. Maybe. Maybe she'd try. If she needed to know whether or not to let go, a real, definitive answer, she'd look to it. Not before. Before was too hard.

Whimpering an apology to no one, she curled up onto her bed, feeling the lump of the book pressing into her side. Finally, she'd started to cry. Crying over a man who told her not to. A man who was probably long dead anyway. He had control over his life, his death, enough to make Moira jealous. Their time together had been so short, and she already had things she regretted doing or not doing. She regretted not reading the journal and she'd only just hidden it. She regretted not following after him, asking his name, sharing anything about herself.

Yet part of her lingered on the idea that it might be better that way. They weren't the people they were before they met. Their time together was their own. He took care of her when he didn't need to, and she was compliant when she didn't need to be. At any moment, they could have killed each other but they never did. They were just two people suffering through a short passage of time alone together. It wasn't enough to stop her from crying, but it was enough to calm her nerves enough to finally sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

There used to be a Moira Burton. A girl of some eighteen years old, sitting on a wooden bleacher and staring at a temporary stage. A girl who watched a woman talk about helping the world. A woman who wanted to be there even less than she did. There used to be a Claire Redfield. No. There was a Claire Redfield still. No one listened to her. Maybe a high school gym wasn't the best place to go when you wanted to save the world.

She didn't remember why she was there. The woman on the stage didn't seem to either. Maybe she just noticed no one cared. Maybe someone cared but Moira could not see them. The redhead was gesturing towards a projected image. It switched from blue text on a white backdrop to a man in a windbreaker jabbing a kid with a needle. Moira watched her flip through a few cards, realize she'd reached the end of her presentation, and make an awkwardly put together closing pitch about joining "TerraSave".

She wanted to laugh as the woman slunk away off stage, but she figured how awful it'd be to talk to a room full of her own peers, so she thought better of it. Maybe she'd swing by her table and say hi when this finished. They were supposed to be finding their future careers, but that was, in her mind, fucking doubtful. Not that Moira had any plans for her future anyway, she didn't exactly see it being with the planeteers.

There used to be a Moira Burton. A girl whose skin hadn't grown around the barbed wire embedded in it. A girl who stood awkwardly just far enough away from a table with a TerraSave banner on it. She watched the woman making pitiful conversation with the few people who did stop to see her. They weren't interested and neither was she. One made a comment about the BSAA and the redhead only rolled her eyes. Moira wanted to save her. She wasn't cut out for saving anyone.

 _Claire, watch out!_

"Hi uh- So… TerraSave huh?" She didn't remember walking up, but she waited until everyone was gone. The redhead was drinking from a water bottle when she did, and Moira knew, briefly, the clear liquid inside was not water. It was all hastily put together. The result of someone, somewhere at the office backing out at the last minute.

They looked at each other for too long. She looked like someone who ought to be dead. _They both ought to be dead_. There was a leather jacket hung on the back of her chair, and she wore a nametag with a quickly drawn name on it. Claire.

 _She was smiling, waving at Claire across a room done up for a party. They were both underdressed, but her more so. But she was happy._

"Yep." The redhead replied, going into her rambling, unpracticed speech. She was staring too, neither were listening. Something was off and they couldn't tell what. Moira didn't believe in soulmates, nor love at first sight, but she did believe in appreciating certain aesthetically pleasing qualities of people. That didn't explain why Claire stared back, though.

"Well, we're always looking for new recruits." She said, holding out a business card. "Why don't you give me a call if you're interested?"

Moira looked down at her hand, reading the card without moving. Claire Redfield. TerraSave. Office #. Cell #.

Cell number.

No. It wasn't anything like that, but Moira wanted to pretend. In her mind it was. But she was just a dumb kid and Claire… well…

It was later. Not far enough later to be right. _How long had she been there? Nights kept rolling by. One right after the other._ Moira had been lonely. Stupid and lonely. And it was late, so that made it okay, at least in her mind. She'd just gotten home from work and pulled off her shirt to change. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she decided there was no point buying cute underwear if no one would ever see it.

Just a photo. Her head out of frame. It was dark enough in her room that the background was mostly illegible shadows but she showed up well enough. Not that Claire knew her room. Not that Claire knew her body. _She didn't know her body anymore either. Large but surprisingly agile. Threatening to things that were not her…_

A reply came not long after she'd sent her photo. It worked.

'Heyyy there'

Was this deceit? Yes. Did she care? Somewhat. Claire wasn't sober. It became clearer and clearer as they went on. They were lonely, though, so it was okay. _She was always lonely now. Or, she would be, if she could think like herself. Did Claire start drinking again?_ Claire even sent pictures back. She was teasing, asking the mysterious girl on the other side of the phone if she wanted to come over. 'Which bar did we meet at?'

It was easy to lie behind a screen.

There used to be a Moira Burton. A girl who would willingly put her shoes on and drive to the house of some drunken thirty year old for a one night stand she'd lied her way into. This is how girls got killed, she knew that. Her dad had been a cop. He told enough stories that she knew better than to do this. She was knocking on the door anyway. One thirty in the morning and she was knocking on a stranger's door for sex.

Claire opened the door, and her grin faded quickly. She smelled like booze and leather. _All she could smell now was blood and rot. She had to eat though. Eating them might kill her mercifully, but it never did._ "Aren't you… that kid?" She said, rubbing the back of her neck.

Moira shrugged, pulling out her phone. "Surprise." She said. Claire didn't ask any questions. She stepped back, but did not close the door. Moira stepped inside. She looked around for a while, standing not far into the house. It was… clean enough, but the night of binge drinking of evident. Several nights, maybe.

"Who's your dad?"

The voice startled Moira. The dim, quiet house wasn't the most inviting place she'd ever been, but maybe it was better during the day. "Doesn't matter."

"It might." She said, shuffling passed Moira before she fell down on the couch. They looked at each other for a bit longer, though Claire looked away first. "We aren't doing this."

Moira sat down next to her, propping her feet up on the table. "Yeah, I figured." Claire took another drink next to her, setting the now empty bottle on the end table. "Can I stay?"

"Stay?"

"Yeah. Y'know. With you? Tonight?" Claire looked her over, frowning. She wanted to say no, Moira could feel it.

But she didn't. "Fine. I guess. We aren't doing anything though. Got it? And delete those pictures."

"What, you think I'm gonna brag to all my friends. Like they even know who you are." She said, rolling her eyes. "You gonna delete mine miss lonely TerraSave babe?"

They were enough alike before it all happened for all the wrong reasons. _She'd met something like her. Something gangly and grey. It made her impossibly angry so she disemboweled it. She couldn't remember why._

There used to be a Moira Burton. A girl of some eighteen years old, sitting on a wooden bleacher and staring at a temporary stage. A girl who watched a woman talk about helping the world. A woman who wanted to be there even less than she did.

There was a monster now. A monster who barely remembered. There were thoughts in her mind that played out as she went about her day, but they didn't mean anything. They happened differently every time, too. Sometimes the red haired woman sent her away, sometimes she took her to bed, and sometimes they even slept together. But it was all meaningless. The only red thing on this island was her food. The only warmth a mess of tattered blankets. The only thing like her was dead and half eaten, left to rot on a stone alter. She'd fallen into the grey monotony of the island where kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, was as dull as a morning commute.

The Moira Burton who used to be would have noticed when things changed. She would have recognized those dark shapes creeping up on the beach. She would have known the sounds they made. But the monster did not, and so she hid. She watched.

"I don't know, Barry, maybe we should let her help. I… think I remember her, from before."


	7. Chapter 7

Hunting monsters was easy, but they were not monsters. They were something far too alive for this graveyard. And they were here to hunt too, so it seemed. Armed with weapons and backpacks, they made their way up the cliff side with their strange little companion they'd met on the shore. They all three looked familiar, but in a meaningless sort of way. Familiar like the dilapidated huts had become. Distant and unimportant to her existence.

 _"Looks like this is the only way through. C'mon, help me lift this thing."_

If that were true, then, why did she watch them? Why did she follow them from afar? She was captivated by their movements, by their hunting. They had no business being here, shooting her prey and leaving it to waste. She would retrieve it later, if she remembered. Things on the island had gotten worse, food harder and harder to come by. Even the animals were dying off and soon she would be stranded on this skeletal rock in the middle of the abyss.

 _"This is where we sent the S.O.S. If we keep going through here, we'll reach the town."_

They were so very much alive though. So perfectly oblivious to the fact she was watching them. Stalking them from outside the buildings they _thought_ they were safe in.

 _"I remember coming here. Maybe we can find something to help us—"_

 _"Um… what's that..?"_

Except, they weren't all oblivious to her. That girl in her little white gown kept glancing at her. At first, Moira convinced herself it was nothing, an accident, but she just kept doing it. She seemed to know where all the monsters were too… impossible to be a coincidence. She was jeopardizing her hunt! She had to be taken care of first.

 _"There's the tower! That's where she—I mean that's where I last saw her."_

They weren't going to let her go so easily though, not when she was such a clear asset to their journey. She was smart enough to know that, a keen hunter herself.

Maybe she wasn't that interested in the girl after all. She could kill her with ease. All of them, really. They were armed but if they weren't looking they'd never know. _They would have no time to dodge the rubble._ No time to protect themselves.

Moira knew they were scared. She could smell fear on all of them. Overpowering anxiety as they searched high and low for some sign, any sign, of human life. They'd never find it. Not anymore.

She'd spent all afternoon watching them. They were alert, mindful of traps and creatures, but as the day wore on, they wore out. It was her chance to strike! But how? The old man made her angry, the child was a danger, but her urges told her she didn't want _either_ of those two. It was the woman she was most interested in. The one leading them through the island in a desperate attempt to find _something._

 _"Look, I think we should stop and rest. We're no use to anyone if we get killed_."

" _I'm not gonna stop until we find her. If you want to give up that's fine by me but I'm not."_

 _"I never said anything about giving up! I just… If Moira is still out here somewhere, she's probably hiding somewhere right now anyway and we should be too. It's too dark to see anything and we're exhausted. She'll last another night if she-"_

 _"Shut up. Just stop. You've done more than enough as is."_

They were too loud now and Moira knew she did not like them. She needed quiet at night. She needed to hear each twig that snapped, each leaf that fell to the ground. If they had been smarter, they would have been doing the same exact thing like good hunters.

Moira decided she wanted a prize for herself.

She emerged, throwing herself out of her hiding place to confront them, a low growl rumbling from her throat. They had no time to react, no time to pull the trigger as she lunged forward, throwing her full weight into the woman who had her back turned to her. A mistake she would regret soon enough.

Grabbing the back of the woman's shirt, she hoisted her, dazed and sore up into the air to keep her from dragging on the ground as she made her escape. The bright light in her face wasn't enough to stop her from sprinting off into the darkness, but the bullets whizzing into the dirt at her heels was just enough to make her go faster as she clutched her captive close to keep her from squirming free. She knew the island too well to be caught. She had a million places to hide and a million paths to take to avoid detection and they would never find her. She was certain of it.

Maybe that's why she took her trophy home. "Home". That little forgotten hut that used to provide comfort and now only provided shelter. The bed that was a luxury. The scarf that was—

She watched the woman groan and hold her head as she was tossed into the corner. She fell limply onto the bundle of discarded blankets, trying to make sense of where she was. Moira could only watch, amused like a cat with a mouse. Her prey had nowhere to run, no hope of escape. Fresh meat would be so, so enjoyable. It had been so long. She smelled so good… _"We aren't doing this." "Well, we're always looking for new recruits." "I'm gonna get you out of there Moira, just hold on!"_

There was a gun. It was in her hands. It was in her prey's hands. She didn't like guns. Her finger was on the trigger. She looked so determined. She looked scared. She could hear breathing. It was heavy. She could smell oil and blood. She was crying. The gun just went off. No, no. That's not where she was. It was the woman's gun pressed against her forehead. Moira couldn't let it happen again.

She wrapped her hand around the woman's arm, squeezing tightly. It couldn't happen again. It wasn't her this time. It was her. She was the predator and the prey. The one who made the mistake and god how she hated guns. She _knew_ how much she hated guns. They both knew.

They both knew.

Moira jerked the woman's arm away, slamming it against the wall with a grunt. She cried out as the gun slipped from her grasp. Moira couldn't let it happen again. It was so easy when it happened. _"The gun just went off!"_ She couldn't go back to that.

The woman wasn't willing to go down that easily. Had she ever? She was reaching for something else, tugging desperately at her backpack until something came loose.

Light blinded her for another moment, shining up into her face. Her grey skin illuminated by the bright yellow glow, dark eyes staring, empty, no, confused, angry. " _Guess I'm on light duty."_ They were both staring. Neither daring to move nor to breathe. The arm in her grasp growing hot, already starting to swell from whatever damage she'd done. She could smell gunpowder and blood and soap. Sweat and shampoo.

It was her turn to be afraid again. Someone deep inside her was screaming. Her voice was loud and desperate and she wanted to stop hiding. She ripped through flesh and bone, trying to claw her way out. That voice was determined to smash the skull she was confined in, burst out into the darkness but she couldn't. She could only fight and lose. Fight and lose. She'd been locked up for so long she couldn't find her way to the surface anymore but she could try. She was going to keep trying.

Her prey. That pretty red head who had sat frozen in her grasp was now trying to lift her free hand. With the flashlight tucked between her legs, she reached upwards, shaking fingers pushing back what little dark hair had grown back.

"No." She whispered, staring up at the beast that had taken her here with every intent to eat her. "I'm so sorry."

Moira didn't move.


End file.
